


Silent Agony

by Skullharvester



Series: One-Shots (Baldur's Gate 3) [7]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, baldur's gate 3
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullharvester/pseuds/Skullharvester
Summary: "His name is Abdirak, and he worships Loviatar.  I know, I must be insane to want anything to do with a follower of an evil goddess, but I’ve never denied my eccentricities.  Perhaps that’s what I see in him.  He’s an oddball that nobody seems to understand, and he’s…I think he’s terribly lonely."
Relationships: Abdirak (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: One-Shots (Baldur's Gate 3) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120211
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Silent Agony

**Author's Note:**

> I'm wondering if my summaries should instead be excerpts from my stories. 🤔 I'm no good at summaries, so I need to figure something better out, I think.
> 
> At any rate, here's a one-shot I've been wanting to do for a while. This ship gives me intense feelings.
> 
> Enjoy and have fun!
> 
> If you liked this tale, please drop me a kudos and/or a comment to let me know if you'd like to see more!
> 
> Thank you, and have a wonderful night!

* * *

* * *

I had never been in a romantic relationship before I met Astarion. They’re nothing like I expected them to be. Like with lots of other things that I wanted to get a better understanding of, I read books about it to try and learn more about what it all entailed, but either what Astarion and I have is very unusual from the norm or I completely misunderstood what to expect. Probably both, honestly.

Regardless, it’s not only Astarion that I have…I don’t know what to call them, really. “Intimate” relationships with. I don’t mean intimate in terms of sex, though, er…that does tend to be a factor. Astarion’s perfectly fine with it. He understands it, and I think he even encourages it. It’s strange… I’m not sure how I feel about it, but here I am, having gone from being a naïve virgin to…a naïve…erm…

I don’t know what I am anymore, truth be told. Or where I’m going, or what I’m doing. Things just tend to unfold around me wherever I go, and I have to figure things out as they happen. No one’s really explained to me many things about life—not clearly. 

Lord Murmyr, my demon patron, has always guided me when my conscience lacked certainty. My uncles from Thay are fairly helpful, but they are often vague and aren’t usually present when I need them to be. Astarion’s taught me a few things, too, but often I wonder whether his methods are right for me. Ultimately, I feel as if I still understand very little about the world.

But to get back to the point: There was a priest that I met in a goblin fortress, of all places, that I grew to like more than I anticipated. He scares me sometimes, especially since he can be so clingy on top of having unusual inclinations, but after giving it some thought, I can understand how he feels. I’m very needy, too.

His name is Abdirak, and he worships Loviatar. I know, I must be _insane_ to want anything to do with a follower of an evil goddess, but I’ve never denied my eccentricities. Perhaps that’s what I see in him. He’s an oddball that nobody seems to understand, and he’s…I think he’s terribly lonely. That would explain why he keeps showing up to the apothecary tower that I work and live at.

That’s why I’m going to visit him for the first time in a long while, after pretending that I haven’t been home for over a month. Again.

Gods, I hate how nervous I get about people I don’t really know. I know it’s foolish, but I get so anxious that I’ll do anything to avoid the discomfort of an awkward encounter. Sometimes I force myself to endure it—to “tough it out” like my adoptive father, Orebos, tells me to do—but it’s _so difficult_. I’m compelled to hide away from everyone, but some days I get to feeling so isolated. 

I think that’s why Astarion wants me to experience…more casual relationships with other people besides him. He must not want me to get too dependent on him, and I can see why: it would probably become annoying for him. Or maybe the thought of me becoming more, uh, “adventurous” is sensual to him? I really don’t understand Astarion’s mindset on these things.

For one, I’m shocked that he’s not as jealous of Abdirak as he is of my childhood friend Benny. It could be because Astarion doesn’t believe that Abdirak really has much of a chance with me, which is sad to think about. I feel sorry for the poor cleric… But it’s true, though. I love Astarion more than anyone else.

Maybe all of this was a mistake. I don’t know if it’s right to be doing what I’m doing—essentially playing with peoples’ hearts and possibly getting their hopes up for something more. But I’m so enthralled by the doubly curious life that I lead now, even if it’s been challenging the way that I perceive everything more than ever before. It’s all very exciting. Scary, but exciting.

Now, I find myself entering the secluded temple to Loviatar, stepping cautiously although most of the worshippers are aware that I’m welcome there. I’ve been here on several occasions in the past. I simply stopped coming when… Well, when my feelings towards Abdirak got too complicated. When I began to pity him. It was different when I thought that Astarion and I were doing him a favor—giving him something that he wanted—but when that was no longer as clear as it used to be, I couldn’t bring myself to keep showing up for our “penance sessions”.

A part of me misses when Abdirak was simply “some man” that gladly facilitated the unusual fantasies that Astarion and I had, but those days were over now. It’s mostly my fault, I believe. There was no obvious indication that anything had changed between the three of us, but I couldn’t shake the idea that something else was going on with what we had.

Why did I come back to the temple? This was such a bad idea. 

It’s mortifying to ask around about where I can find Abdirak here. We used to have a usual day and time that we’d meet here, so he’d be within the main chamber waiting for us. This is my first time exchanging a single word with most of these people; I don’t know who they are or what they even do here. Hells, to this day, I’m completely clueless as to what Abdirak’s ranking is among the priesthood. What an uncaring arse I am!

I’m always off in my own little world, thinking almost exclusively about what I’m doing, and ignoring everything else. I hate to admit it, but that’s never been much of a burden to me in the past. After all, isn’t that what most people do? They’re not really paying attention to what other folk are doing, they’re more concerned with their own affairs. Seems reasonable enough, I guess. If you don’t sort your own business out, nobody’s going to do it for you, are they?

My head’s swimming with too many thoughts. I get that way when I’m nervous. I’m always nervous. No wonder I’m so exhausted all the time; there’s rarely ever a time in which I’m not panicking quietly to myself. In my head. Where only my patron can hear me. Or Astarion, when he decides to ignore our promise not to overuse the power of the telepathic mind flayer tadpole wriggling around in our brains. At this rate, I’ve adapted to the worm’s intrusive decision to take up residence inside my mind, but I hate when Astarion does that.

He never takes me seriously; I believe he thinks I’m daft. Everyone thinks I’m daft. They tell me otherwise, but I know they talk about me like that behind my back, when they think that I can’t hear them…

Ugh. My head hurts. I’m sick with stress. And I can’t find Abdirak in any of these rooms, but I have walked in on a few scenes that I probably shouldn’t have. I hope I won’t get in trouble for it later. I’m especially concerned about the last room I barged into. I think what I saw was a couple of priests of Loviatar wailing on a cleric of Ilmater with flails. The latter didn’t seem consenting towards receiving “atonement”… But then, I’m pretty sure that the followers of Loviatar and those of Ilmater are sworn enemies. Most divine beings have their polar opposites that they wage war with more than any other competitor. 

That’s probably why, despite all my curiosity about religion, I never truly ascribed to any in particular and gave up my ambitions of becoming a druid. Even the kinder gods ask for a great deal in return for their boon, as it turns out. It’s already difficult enough to keep my existing patron happy. I can’t imagine trying to juggle both. 

Besides, Lord Murmyr is extremely jealous; I don’t think he’d suffer my devotion being split for long. I love him and consider him to be one of my closest friends who’s done so much for me, but his paranoia can be so taxing on my emotions. I wish people would stop fighting over me; I’m not an object, I—

I should clear my head; I don’t want to have those kinds of thoughts again. I’m my own person now. I’m not a _thing_. I’m not.

While lost in my thoughts, I nearly instinctively slam shut the next door that I open, believing that I would never find Abdirak in this crumbling and darkened maze of a temple—I’m glad that as a half-elf, I can see decently in the dark—but there he was. Finally! This must be his private quarters. They’re not much, but it doesn’t seem like anyone lives lavishly here.

“Abdirak?” I call out, gently. I don’t want to disturb whatever it is he’s doing. He looks busy. I should probably go…

I’m steadily pulling the door shut and slinking away, but he stops me by turning around to acknowledge my voice. He’s smiling at me. I give a small smile in return, my head still poking through the crack in the door.

“Elganon?” he asks, coming over to invite me in, putting his hand on my shoulder when I open the door further again.

He hardly ever uses my actual name, so that alone takes me by surprise. I’m aware that he knows it, but typically he refers to me by monikers that he uses with everyone else, just like Astarion tends to. Abdirak’s hand is calloused and there are cuts on the palm that have scabbed over recently.

I should have worn something with sleeves today, but even though he doesn’t have the softest touch, I enjoy his warmth. I’m so accustomed to how frigid Astarion’s undead skin is that I sometimes forget that people are supposed to be warm like this.

Without thinking, I hug him tightly. I whimper a little when I accidentally bury my face right into the barbed scourge crest—the symbol of his goddess—on his hard shoulder mantle. My cheek has already started bleeding by the time I withdraw, but the scratches are tiny and don’t give off that much pain. He touches the cuts, running his thumb across them. I’m hyper-focused on that gesture and the fact that we’re still holding each other at the waist. I don’t know what to make of it.

He’s the first to speak again.

“It’s good to see you again, dear one. I was starting to wonder if you’ve been…avoiding me.” His narrow lips purse, becoming thinner.

“I…”

Should I lie?

“N-No, it’s not that.”

I can’t bear to tell him that I had been.

As we hold one another close, I realize that my tunic is getting wet, so I look down. There’s a lot of red, so I let go of him and step back. His stomach is cut open, and the wound is very deep…

I lose myself for a moment. Something about seeing macabre things makes my mind drift away…somewhere. An unwanted sense of satisfaction sets in. 

_Hurting… Pity… So sad… Poor wretches of the world…_

It’s not my internal voice chanting that. It’s the shrill, animalistic voice of my patron that echoes through my mind, but is he speaking to me now or is it merely a memory that haunts me?

What’s the difference?

I have to snap out of it. I have to focus. What’s going on here? Where am I?

I peer around the room blankly and try to remember.

Now it all comes back to me, and I start panicking.

Oh, Gods, what if he bleeds out and dies? 

I wish we were closer to the apothecary. This wouldn’t be such a dire situation if I could only take him to the back room there where I perform surgeries and have all my equipment.

How can he be so calm and serene while he’s wounded so badly? 

I can’t breathe. 

I fan my face with my hands and close the gap between us again, compressing the wound with my palm. I wish my hands were stronger; I can’t put as much pressure on it as I would like to.

“A-Abdirak, what did you do?”

He glances down at my hands. I can see the lightheadedness in his pale eyes. They remind me of Benny’s eyes, especially with how wide open they are when he assesses what little he can see of his self-inflicted injury. He knows it’s bad. He didn’t before, but he knows now.

“I thought…” The cleric stumbles over his words; he's growing faint from blood loss. 

He places a hand over mine, helping me slow the bleeding. His body slumps a little when he presses the side of his head to my neck. He expects to die, and it seems as if he almost welcomes it. I wonder how many years he’s tempted fate like this, pretending that it’s for his goddess’ appeasement. This can’t all be for her; this is going too far.

But despite his decreased will to live, he comes with me as I walk him towards the stone table in the room. He has a bed in here, but it’s a bed made of nails; that’s hardly helpful in this situation. I brush the clutter on the table aside to make enough room for him to lay down.

Luckily, I carry a few supplies with me in case of emergencies. After instructing Abdirak to keep pressure on his stomach, I take a needle out of one of the pouches on my belt. My hands tremble when I try to thread it. Abdirak taps me on the shoulder and gestures for us to swap roles; I compress the wound while he threads the needle himself. 

I’m baffled at how tranquil he is. If I were in his situation, I would be screaming and delirious with agony, but he treats it like a mundane task with only a slightly uneasy frown and a glazed-over look in his eyes. 

When he’s done, he hands the needle back to me and holds the torn skin together, preparing for when I insert the needle. I don’t have anything to numb the pain with, but I doubt he would want me to.

He takes in a sharp, quivering breath as I gradually stitch him back together with my left hand. My right hand gently brushes over the wound with my fingertips, channeling necromantic magic into the flesh. My magic won’t have a permanent effect, but it should keep him from passing out or worse. The entire time I’m doing this, he appears ashamed, but he doesn’t say a word to me. I wish all my patients were so cooperative, but I can’t help but feel sorry for him.

“D-Don’t be _too_ thorough,” he speaks up, flashing me a saddened smile. “It won’t be worth it if it doesn’t leave a scar.”

My lips curve upward, too. “But you have plenty of them already.”

“You can never have enough, dear one. Loviatar demands much of her children.” He pats my wrist, then turns his head away, waiting for me to finish.

“Not too much, I hope,” I say in response. I’ve been trying to work on my bedside manner, but I’ve never been good at it, and his lack of a reaction tells me that I, unfortunately, haven’t improved much.

He rubs his face. He must be tired. Today must have been exhausting for him.

“I’m sorry that this has happened,” he says. “I thought I knew my limits.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s talking to me, but I respond anyway. “It’s alright. I’m glad that I came when I did.”

No answer. He keeps staring at the wall.

“You should come stay at the apothecary with me for a few nights. I don’t want you to get an infection.” I suspect that he wouldn’t tell me if he did until it was too late, so I want to make sure I can monitor him for a while.

“I’ll be fine, dear one,” he says, though I know he’s lying.

“Please,” I insist. “When’s the last time you’ve been properly examined? I can tell that you’re fatigued, and it concerns me. You could be ill, for all I know. Do it for my sake.”

He sluggishly sits up and looks down at me, at a loss. “I hadn’t realized you cared so much about me.”

Honestly, I hadn’t, either.

“I do.”

I sling his arm around my shoulders and help him down from the table. We leave the temple together, and he makes it a point to avoid being seen by the other clergy on our way out.

* * *

I was glad to see that Orebos wasn’t milling about the store floor of the tower when we entered. 

It’s after business hours, so I had to unlock the door to get in. Astarion’s either upstairs or still out shopping at The Wide with our traveling companions.

Orebos is going to be furious if Astarion took money from the till again to buy frivolous things. Astarion has made the duergar so mad since he’s been staying with us that I think Orebos’ beard is starting to fall out since it can’t turn any whiter. I wish that I had the nerve to steal from the till myself when I was growing up here…

“The examination room is all the way at the back,” I tell Abdirak as I guide him between the rows of shelves.

Most people understandably gawk at the items we have on display. A lot of it is very morbid. Organs and limbs preserved in jars, medical tools that often get mistaken for torture devices, putrid-looking plants, etcetera… 

But I don’t think any of that fazes Abdirak. He’s probably seen a lot of ghoulish things in his lifetime. I can’t tell how old he is, exactly. He may look older than he truly is because of the rough life that he’s clearly lived, but I would assume he’s either in his late thirties or early forties. Though, he could easily be in his twenties, like me, for all I know.

I’ve never seen him look so defeated before, and it makes him appear even older.

“Abdirak, are you alright?”

He nods. “Yes, I just need to sit down.”

I bring him into the back room and lower him onto the cot. “Rest here for a moment while I fill out a new patient file for you. I won’t take long.”

He closes his eyes and sighs through his nostrils, laying a forearm over his forehead. The opposite hand’s thumb caressed the stitching on his abdomen.

“Don’t play with that too much,” I warn before stepping away to go through the drawers to find some blank parchment to write on.

Now doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to get into some of the usual questions; I could ask him outright about his age and other things like that, but those can wait for another time. All I really need right now is to make a record of what I’d done for his injury at the temple and anything I find during the examination. I’m not about to get too invasive, I hope.

I put down his name—I don’t ask for a surname since I’ve never met another Abdirak in this city and his job title of “cleric” is enough to distinguish his record by—and scribble down a few details with my ink-dipped quill before asking him to sit up on the edge of the cot so that I can proceed with my examination.

He has so many scars, punctures, and bruises. He shivers when I touch them and tells me that my hands are incredibly smooth. It makes me blush.

“Do I need to disrobe for you to see the rest?” he asks.

“Not if you don’t want to,” I answer.

He chuckles, removing his mantle first—there are so many straps that he has to unclasp on the back. “Don’t be so shy, dear one. You’ve seen me without clothing before.”

“I know,” I stammer, nearly dropping the book I’m using as a writing surface for the stacks of parchment, “but that was under a different context.”

Even with it being all beaten up and tattered, he has a very nice body, I think to myself while staring at his naked form when he takes off his kilt and boots, too. I don’t typically ogle my patients like this. Usually, I’m eager for them to get their clothes back _on_ , but my eyes are fixed to him. It’s horribly embarrassing that I can’t stop looking at what’s between his thighs, but I’m not used to being around him for any other purpose than… _that_.

I attempt to empty the heady thoughts from my head and finish taking account of his older injuries, but my face only gets hotter when I set down my quill and book to gingerly grab his hips and backside to turn him this way and that way on the cot. I crouch to pick up my tools again and work on completing my notes, and while my head is down, his fingers comb through my hair and touch my sensitive ears. I sigh needily when he caresses the tips of them; it feels good.

My head is so close to his open thighs that I can’t resist dropping my writing supplies and burying my face in between them, putting my mouth on the cuts in the flesh of his inner thigh—some are very old, but others were made within the past few days. He keeps playing with my ears; I think he’s encouraging me with the way he’s rubbing them more firmly in between his slow breaths. I want this, too.

I work my tongue from his inner thigh to his scrotum, over the healed incision in his sack where he’d taken out one of his testicles. I forgot to put that down in my notes, but I’ll have to remember to later. I would think that having only one testicle would make it difficult for him to gain and maintain an erection, but his shaft is already hardening underneath my traveling tongue. I might include that information, too, in case it becomes pertinent in the future. 

I hope Orebos doesn’t still read the patient files. My life is embarrassing enough as it is without him knowing that I have extensive notes on the strange priest’s genitals—the same man who sometimes shows up on our doorstep, fruitlessly pleading for me to come out to meet with him until he’s made to leave.

I smile as I run my tongue around the red scar where Abdirak’s foreskin has been removed. It makes his phallus appear so unusual to me, but in a way that I find interesting. I ask if it hurts since it looks so irritated, but he says that it doesn’t cause him any pain, though there is slightly less sensation in that area. He must have severed some of the nerves in the process of cutting it off, whenever that happened. It gives me the idea to start touching him in specific spots along the shaft and the head of his erection.

Can you feel this much? Does it hurt when I do this? Should I squeeze harder? He answers all of my questions, but it’s a difficult task for him, given how much loving attention his sensitive bits are getting. I don’t blame him.

The translucent liquid bubbling out of the head of his penis is pleasant when it touches my lips. I don’t normally care for salty things, but I think this is something with a taste I have acquired. It keeps coming out while I kiss at the slit, and I keep licking it off my lips and giggling to myself. He pets the top of my head affectionately while wincing in discomfort. He’s extremely hard in my hand, ready to burst.

At times like this, I usually wish Astarion could be present to see me—I know he would enjoy it—but I don’t feel that this time. I’m happy that it’s just Abdirak and myself here. The two of us, alone.

I slide all of him into my mouth and bring my head up and down on the stiff shaft, going slow so that we could both savor it. The fluid that wouldn’t stop seeping out trickles down the back of my throat and I can barely taste it as it goes down.

Astarion once taught me this trick that makes fellatio feel better on men, where I contract my throat to make it a tighter fit for the head. Abdirak leans back against the cot and bucks his hips as I do that. He clutches the worn bedding in his hands and moans in quick succession with each movement.

Abdirak and I have never had sex like this before. It typically involves me performing grievous acts of violence upon him at his request. This seems innocent in comparison, and I’m surprised that he’s able to enjoy it as much as he is, but I’m glad that it’s giving him some relief.

He finishes in my mouth abruptly, and it’s apparent that he hasn’t orgasmed in a while because it’s thick and gooey when it hits my throat. I swallow it down quickly and pull his wet, limp phallus out of my mouth to cough until I can breathe again. He pats my back until I recover, and I think that’s unexpectedly sweet of him to do. 

He asks if I’m alright, and I tell him that I’m fine. He pulls me onto the cot and undresses me, probably eager to return the favor. I tell him that he doesn’t have to and that I’m more worried about him taking care of his injury, but he ignores my concerns, tosses my garments to the floor, gets between my legs, lowers his head, and begins to suck me off with intense fervor. 

I was afraid that he would be far less gentle, but he’s so delicate with me.

My thighs instinctively squeeze the sides of his head, my body is overwhelmed with the delightful sensations. It’s good to be lost in him as he swallows me whole, hungry for what I have to offer, and he holds and strokes my unsteady thighs as they cling to him for support. 

When I come, I bite into the back of my arm, muffling my ecstatic scream. He doesn’t let a drop of my seed go to waste, either; he licks every bit of what remains off my shaft, and I can’t hold still while he’s doing it because I’m still feeling very sensitive down there.

He crawls up the cot to lay at my side. There’s barely enough room for both of us like this, but we cuddle close together to make the most of the tiny space. He wraps his arms around me from behind, puts his chin on my shoulder, and takes in the smell of my hair. 

He kisses and licks along the edge of my ear, then wriggles his tongue inside of it. How weird! I didn’t even know that people could kiss like that! I let him do it, though, as odd as it feels to have the inside of my ear made wet with saliva. He’s really into it, and I’m getting into it, too.

Once he withdraws his tongue, I turn to face him, careful not to agitate his stitched-up wound, and kiss him chastely on the lips. His lips aren’t as full as Astarion’s are, but they’re cute in their own way. Abdirak and I just stare into each other’s eyes for a while, holding each other’s hips.

He’s happy for a while, until he’s not. I ask what’s wrong, and it takes him a while to respond.

“What we did was wrong,” he says with a troubled expression.

I’m shocked! For what reason would he say something like that?

“No, it’s fine,” I assure him in a hurry. “Astarion doesn’t mind. He likes when I sleep with other people.”

That was probably a bad way to word it…

“I’m not talking about your lover,” he says.

I never noticed it before, but I don’t think Abdirak remembers Astarion’s name half the time. It’s only mine that he remembers without having to be reminded. In fact, he’s kind of been indifferent to Astarion’s presence. Whenever we’d have a threesome together, Abdirak would only really pay attention to—

…Me.

Why me? Astarion is a vampire! Shouldn’t that be _more_ exciting to a masochist?

Abdirak explains further, “What you and I…and _him_ have done together in the past was a gift to Loviatar; a ritual in which the lines between pain and pleasure are blurred. But this is…this is more of a gift to _me_.” 

He looked so uncomfortable to confess to that. Why?

I touch his cheek, and the tears that start flowing roll down my fingers. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t deserve anything,” he says. “I’m a wretch.”

I didn’t know how to answer at first.

“…I know how you feel, Abdirak. But the master I serve—Lord Murmyr—he is a _lord_ of wretches. He gives them the things they believe they don’t deserve and makes them happy. I could make you happy, too.”

I’ve never told him about my patron, have I? I’ve always kept it a secret to most, for good reason.

Abdirak’s brow wrinkles with unease. “I’ve never heard this name before. I…had assumed that my goddess sent you to me; that you were among The Maiden of Pain’s chosen ones.”

“Lord Murmyr is a demon,” I admit. “And…no, Loviatar hasn’t sent me. I’m a nobody—a wretch just like you.”

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to tell him the truth.

Did Lord Murmyr send me to him, I wonder? It seems like this is always how it plays out. Somehow, I end up drawn towards vulnerable people whose wanting souls yearn for something. People like him. People like me. Am I preying on them for my master’s benefit? I never thought of it that way before…

Abdirak pauses, taking everything that I had said in. “…If you’re asking me to blaspheme against my goddess—”

“I’m not,” I interrupt. “I’m not asking you to serve my patron, I’m only asking you to let me help you.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he says, climbing out of the cot with awkward, wobbling steps. “Loviatar _despises_ those who help others, and she wouldn’t approve of me accepting your help, either.”

I sit upright, then follow him, grabbing him by the wrist. “Abdirak—”

“I should probably go.” He bends over to pick up his clothes with the unrestrained arm. He lets out a pained groan when the skin where his injury is located folds, and it weeps blood anew. The stitches remain in place, holding the flesh together to keep the bleeding from worsening beyond a few minuscule beads.

“Please stay,” I beg, holding his wrist tighter.

“I can’t.” He wrenches his arm away to wipe the blood from his abdomen.

I grimace empathetically at his pain. “Why not?”

He steps forward and embraces me, engulfing my mouth with a kiss more intimate than the last. I lean into him, tasting his tongue when it slips between my lips. He doesn’t want to let go, nor do I want him to, but eventually he does because he has something to tell me.

“Because I’m in love with you, and I know that I cannot have you,” he says in a confession that surely breaks his heart as much as it does mine when I hear it. “My goddess would not let me, your lover would not let me, and you don’t want me in the way that I want you. Deep down, I know that.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded, with my jaw hanging open. “Abdirak…”

“I have to go,” he says again, “but thank you for saving my life, precious one. I need to return to the temple and repent for accepting your rescue. I’m sorry.”

As he quickly re-dresses, with his heavily scarred back facing me, I tell him: “I’m sorry, too, Abdirak…”

I can’t see him sobbing, but I know that he is. I can hear the distraught sniffles and gasps as he runs out the door and leaves the apothecary entirely.

I didn’t know until then how strongly he felt about me. I don’t know if I’ve helped him in some way, or if I’ve made his life harder somehow. 

I’m sorry, Abdirak. 

I wish I could give you what you need. But I do love you. I really do, and I hope the best for you. 

Maybe one day you’ll find what you’re looking for, but…I don’t think your goddess can give it to you, either, whatever it is.

* * *

It wasn’t my intention to torment him, but I couldn’t leave things as we left them that night. So, I went back to the temple a few days later. I needed to make sure he hadn’t gotten sepsis, at least. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if he got sick and died due to my neglect.

“You’re…you’re back,” he says in awe when I return to his quarters within the temple.

I approach him slowly, worried I that I might be overstepping his boundaries by returning so soon without sending word that I was coming first. Although he hadn’t shown me the same courtesy in the past, I doubt he knew any better then. He’s just a lonely person seeking comfort. I know how that feels.

“Abdirak, I’m sorry for upsetting you the other night. I know you said that you’re not supposed to accept any help from me, but is there anything that I _can_ do to make amends?”

His attention shifts to the weapon rack upon the wall, and he takes down one of the scourges attached to it, handing it to me.

“What’s this for?” I ask him. “What do you want me to do with this? Am I to punish myself?”

I pray that’s not what he has in mind. I have a very complicated relationship with pain, and I’d rather avoid it if possible.

“No,” he replies. He shows me his back and gets to his knees. “I need you to hurt _me_. I believe it will be adequate compensation for accepting your help when you rescued me from my own failure.”

My grip anxiously tightens around the handle of the scourge. “Is this really what you want?”

He nods and bows his head, waiting for me to do as he asked.

And so, I whip him. Over and over again, I whip him, and I burst into tears midway, my wailing drowning out his cries of anguish. My administrations are half-hearted at first, but I know his goddess will expect more, so I lash him as hard as I can until his back is gleaming a dark crimson shade and he’s hunched over on the floor, bracing himself with his outstretched arms. The screams ring in my ears, even when they’ve stopped.

Then, I put the scourge away and huddle down in front of him, hugging him tightly while we weep together in each other’s arms.

As we embrace, I feel the shame that wallowed in his soul. The immense pain, physical and otherwise. I feel everything laid bare before me. I can’t trace the cause of it all, but I can sense that these things followed him all throughout life like a dark cloud ready to pour rain. I didn’t create the cloud, but I think I squeezed the rain droplets out. 

His tears dampen my shoulder as I stroke the longer side of his hair, keeping it away from his eyes while he clenches his teeth and bawls against me.

I whisper into his ear that everything is going to be alright. I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> "I need something else.  
> Would someone please just give me?  
> Hit me, knock me out, and let me go back to sleep.  
> I can laugh all I want, inside I still am empty.  
> So deep that it didn't even bleed and catch me."
> 
> Recommended Listening: All That I've Got by The Used


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